GIFT   OF 


THERE    IS    NO    NIGHT 

BY  IRA  EDMUND  STANFORD 


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THERE    IS    NO    NIGHT 

AND   OTHER   VERSE 


Written  and  Assembled  by 
IRA    EDMUND    STANFORD 

Author  of 

"Wayside  Gleanings,"  "Service," 

"A    Royal    Success,"    "Texts," 

"Democracy,"  etc. 


Copyright  1920 

by 
Ira  Edmund  Stanford 


THERE    IS    NO    NIGHT 


417969 


INTERROGATION 

Oh!  dust  of  earth! 

Touched  by  the  leven 
Which  was  and  is: 

The  Word  in  heaven, 
Whence  art  thou?  Lo! 

Whither  dost  thou 


fl 


Behold!     The  Father  in  the  son 
Promise  and  pledge  fulfilled  in  one, 


A  PILGRIM 


COMMITMENT 


Through  the  panoramic  vicissitudes  and  asso 
ciations  of  a  half  century,  seeing,  hearing,  touching, 
and  tasting  the  real  things  that  constitute  a  human 
life,  I  have  studied  and  observed  with  keenest 
scrutiny,  from  hovel  and  hut,  from  classroom, 
prison,  and  mart,  the  desires,  ambitions,  achieve 
ments  and  destinies  of  men. 

Having  elbowed  with  those  tossed  on  billows 
of  adversity — &ored  by  the  horns  of  disappoint 
ment  in  both  afiection  and  finance — yea,  having 
been  permitted  to  &rasp  the  hand  and  stay  the 
thought  of  some  standing  on  the  very  pinnacle  of 
despair  imploring  the  bodkin  or  other  a&ent  of 
the  unknown  and  meanwhile  having  sought 
diligently  for  the  well  spring — probed  for  the 
secret  touch,  the  "modus  operandi"  of  building, 
&reat  character;  I  have  an  incurable  pursuasion 
that  every  man  under  normal  dome  is  born  with 
a  faculty  (latent  or  ignored)  which  possesses  him 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


with  an  innate  ability  not  only  to  recognize  but 
to  pass  judgment  upon  all  acts  of  ri&ht  and  wrong, 
as  pertains  to  his  own  character. 

If  he  will  follow  with  unfaltering  alacrity  the 
dictations  from  within,  not  allowing  himself  to 
become  dwarfed,  biased,  or  pi&mied  by  strained 
commercialism,  false  teaching,  and  evil  association, 
he  will,  regardless  of  place,  color,  or  condition, 
countersug&estion  or  whatsoever,  ultimately  pass 
judgment  on  his  own  acts — determine  his  own 
destiny,  and  attain  unto  perfect  happiness  and 
abiding  peace. 

It  is  my  further  conviction  that  if  every  man 
were  scrupulously  honest  and  box-toed  with 
himself — &oin&  forth  to  bailiff  with  all  alacrity 
every  minute  verdict  of  his  internal  court — the 
heart,  e&o,  eclesia,  mind,  or  will,  the  most  coveted 
&oal,  the  wildest  ambition,  and  highest  ideals 
would  become  immediate  realities.  Straightway 
universal  justice  would  prevail,  and  the  Utopian 
a&e  would  be  transformed  from  the  misty,  in 
tangible,  far-off  dream  into  a  glorious,  opulent 
present  reality. 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


To  all  wKo  are  passing  throu&h  trials  of  priva 
tion,  discouragements,  anxiety,  disappointments, 
agonies  with  lin&erin&  doubts  and  na&&in£  fears — 
you  have  an  anchor  which  is  sure  and  steadfast 
within  you.  It  (the  truth)  shall  be  in  you  a  well 
of  water  sprin&in&  up  unto  everlasting  life.  Thus 
anchored,  we  shall  possess  the  grandeur  of  inde 
pendent  integrity,  the  sublimest  thing,  in  all 
nature. 

Now,  to  all  such  and  to  the  many  friends  who 
have  desired  a  copy  of  "There  Is  no  Ni&ht"  after 
much  thought  mingled  with  serious  meditation,  I 
affectionately  submit  this  little  booklet  with  the 
full  hope  that  you — studying  to  show  yourself 
approved  unto  &ood,  may  learn  the  secret  of 
happiness  in  service,  &rasp  the  author's  interpre 
tation  of  living,  truth  and  behold  your  li&ht. 

Most  sincerely  committed, 

IRA  EDMUND  STANFORD. 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 

Old!    Growing  old!    Aye,  can  it  be? 

Man  not  born  for  eternity? 
Dons  he  the  cradle  labeled  old 

To  swiftly  pass  like  tales  he's  told, 
Doth  bended  form,  do  tresses  &ray 

Bespeak  thee  more  than  closing  day? 
Yon  orb  of  li&ht  doth  steal  away 

To  but  clothe  vales  in  vestures  &ray, 
Think  you  the  tints  on  crests  between 

Can  rob  one  whit  of  splendent  sheen? 
Not  sobs,  nor  tears,  nor  any  plight 

Can  stay  his  irresistless  flight. 
Lon&  shadows  fall  from  cottage  old, 

Blank  ni&ht  creeps  on.     Blank?     I  behold 
In  fancy  wild,  the  frizzled  shrouds 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


Which  wrap  the  clay  of  myriad  crowds, 
I  scan  the  bier,  that  reckoned  spouse 

Of  all  who  'proach  the  narrow  house. 
The  wailing  wind  brings  woeful  tone 

That  chills  the  marrow  in  my  bone. 
Doth  coy  man  tread  the  mystic  deep 

Whence    strangely    soon    there's    none 

to   weep? 
What!  One  step  bare  and  one  that's  shod, 

Then  fold  our  mantles  'neath  the  sod? 
Strange  sounds  are  heard  at  dead  of  ni&ht 

When  some  lone  soul  is  taking  flight. 
I  list  once  more,  I  strain  my  si&ht, 

To  hear  no  voice  and  catch  no  li&ht. 
It  stays  my  thoughts,  they  trouble  so, 

Those  horrid  doubts  of  lon&  a&o. 
A  grassy  knoll,  prepared  place 

For  faith  and  zeal  in  such  a  race? 
A  home  like  that,  down  twixt  the  pines 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


Its  walls  bedecked  with  moss  and  vines? 
Think  you  Omnicience  ever  could 

Forsake  the  thing,  he  once  called  &ood? 
Justice  defies  the  demon's  thrust 

That  men,  like  worms,  return  to  dust. 
I  reaffirm;  it  must  be  ri&ht, 

That  unto  man  THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT. 
That  awful  thought  o'erwhelms  my  brain 

'Til  body  rent  and  racked  with  pain 
Upstarts  as  from  its  wanton  dreams 

To  hail  once  more,  perchance  what  seems 
A  fiery  arm;  a  missile  clasped 

With  which  to  break  this  monster's  &rasp 
'Twas  vapored  spray  across  the  deep, 

A  meteor  had  &one  to  sleep. 
Once  more,  in  darkness  all  alone, 

I  felt  within,  the  spirit's  &roan, 
And  spectres  jeered  in  boisterous  &lee 

"Lost  is  your  opportunity." 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


Beneath  tKe  damp  and  chill  of  death 

I  gasped  and  gasped  for  one  more  breath, 
By  which  to  hurl  the  arch  foe  fear 

With  "Would  to  God  my  Lord  were  here." 
Though  pulses  fail,  my  throat  would  fill, 

I  whisper  yet,  "Thy  will!    Thy  will! 
I  am  thy  child,  for  aye  shall  be, 

To  such  there's  no  extremity, 
Through  faith  and  love  Thy  face  I'd  see, 

E'en  though  'twere  through  Gethsemane!" 
A  sheen  of  li&ht  o'ercasts  my  bed, 

A  voice  speaks,  "Hush!  He  is  not  dead. 
This  one  &reat  truth  believe — aye,  know, 

Because  I  live,  ye  live  also. 
I  am  of  truth  Thy  life,  Thy  breath, 

Believe  in  me.     Ne'er  taste  of  death." 
I  leap  upright,  dazed  in  the  &low, 

I  hide  my  face  and  bend  me  low. 
A  voice  within,  so  firm  yet  sweet, 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


This  wondrous  message  doth  repeat. 
"There's  one  &reat  truth  I  needs  must  brin&, 

It  is  the  edict  from  thy  Kin&." 
Wrin£  not  thy  hands,  spurn  idle  tears, 

In  retrospect  of  misspent  years, 
Where  lack  of  zeal  has  failed  to  show 

To  faltering  men  the  God  you  know. 
Arise  and  do,  where  man  hath  trod, 

The  things  I  bid  for,  I  am  God. 
I  am  in  you  and  you  in  me 

We  twain  are  one  eternally, 
This  doth  thy  God  require  of  thee, 

Live  truth  for  all  humanity." 
This  mandate  heed,  the  voice  obey, 

Then  serve  with  Him  through  endless  day, 
Why  sorrowing,  &rope  thou  thy  way? 

The  darkest  hour  lies  nearest  day. 
When  shadows  fall  and  cables  strain, 

Through  &rievin&  loss  or  crucial  pain, 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


We're  want  to  Kold  unwitting  plaint, 

Toward    Him    who    guides,    though    oft 

restraint 
Be  Wisdom's  way  to  brin&  about 

The  &ood  of  man  from  inside  out. 
Should  I  bechide  "It's  God's  own  way 

Permitting  ni&ht  to  follow  day?" 
Strong  dwells  the  God  of  Love  in  thee 

To  lead  and  shape  thy  destiny. 
The  voice  within  thou  shalt  obey, 

With  him  is  life,  the  truth,  the  way, 
His  star  appears.     The  truth  is  born, 

That  darkened  men  may  reach  the  morn. 
The  sun  is  risen!     There  is  no  ni&ht, 

Brother,  fear-tossed,  behold  thy  li&ht. 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


REFINING 

To  everyone  in  life 

There  comes  some  testing,  time, 
A  day  to  try  the  soul 

As  ne'er  before; 
When  character  rises 

To  heights  sublime, 
Or  failing,  it  falls 

Perchance  to  rise  no  more. 


THERE  IS  NO  NIGHT 


MY  CARPENTER 

I  know  we  are  building 

As  we  journey  alon&  by  the  way; 
Each  thought  is  a  nail  driven 

In  timbers  that  cannot  decay. 
At  last  when  we've  finished 

Be  it  loathsome,  majestic,  or  &ay 
It  shall  be  returned  to  us 

Just  as  we  willed  and  built  it  today, 


A  PILGRIM'S   CAMP 


*AN  EXECUTIVE  ODE 

Where  justice  rei&ns  in  any  fi&ht, 

Whatever  is  is  always  ri&ht, 
Staid  He  the  hand  that  would  defeat 

To  cast  the  world  now  at  thy  feet? 
Dear  chosen  voice,  whate'er  betide, 

A  loyal  host  is  at  thy  side. 
No  North,  no  South,  no  East,  no  West, 

You  are  our  country's  barred  breast 
With  sword  unsheathed  as  her  behest 

To  avenge  the  wrongs  of  God's  oppressed. 
Since  justice  now  is  our  delight, 

Whatever  is,  is  always  ri&ht. 
The  blood  this  awful  scourge  has  shed 

*  Dedicated  and  addressed  to  the  Chief  Executive  of  the  United 
States  of  America  on  March  tenth,  nineteen  seventeen  at  the  close 
of  one  of  the  keenest  political  campaigns  in  a  half  century  and  at 
a  time  when  war  clouds  bulked  ominous  and  the  roar  of  cannon 
and  shell  were  continental. 


AN  EXECUTIVE  ODE 


Cries  for  revenue  from,  cursed  dead. 
The  Oppressor's  clan  now  hides  its  face 

Through  consciousness,  needless  disgrace. 
Great  God  who  doth  the  worlds  command 

Be  thou  Columbia's  brain  and  hand. 
Unto  her  sons  wisdom  ordain 

Let  Justice  now  thy  people  rei&n 
That  awful  scourge  of  shot  and  shell 

Be  cast  with  all  into  its  hell. 
Let  Peace  with  ri&ht  come  on  apace 

'Till  it  shall  compass  every  race. 
And  then,  Oh  God  of  love  and  li&ht, 

Where  your  Son  shines  there  is  no  ni&ht. 
When  Justice  wields  the  sword  of  mi&ht, 

Whatever  is,  is  always  Ri&ht. 


Oaylord  Bros. 

Maker* 
Syracuse,  M.It. 


417969 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


